Wondering
by Beautiful Delirium
Summary: Sansa cannot help but wonder.


A/N: I HAVE RETURNED. . .AGAIN! Once again, I DON'T OWN ANYTHING! THE WONDERFUL GEORGE R.R. MARTIN DOES! R&R PLEASE!

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Sometimes Sansa looks in a mirror after Joffrey's beatings and wonders.

She wonders about her family, her home. She wonders about Winterfell and if anything has changed in her absence. She wonders about her Bran and Rickon and how they are faring. She wonders about Arya and whether she is alive or not. She wonders about Robb and his campaign in the North and what he thinks about his new crown. She wonders about her mother, if she is holding strong against what the gods are hurling at her. She wonders about her father's soul, if he is in a peaceful place or if he cannot rest because of her betrayal. She wonders what she did to earn her fate and wonders what would have happened to her father had she kept her mouth shut. She wonders about the Queen and if the lady has always been bitter and hateful, or if King Robert has played into the Queen's nature. She wonders about the Imp and what games he plays when she and the others aren't looking.

She wonders and wonders and wonders, yet none of these wonders she voices aloud. It is better for her if she plays the songbird; if she sings pretty songs, they won't break her neck. If she keeps them amused, they won't kill her for sport.

Still, she cannot help but wonder.

Some nights after one of Joffrey's beatings, she'll hide the knife away that she used to cut her fruit. She'll be alone in her room and remove the knife from under her pillow or mattress. On these nights, she'll wonder what it would feel like to slide the blade across her wrists or throat. She wonders what it would feel like to have her life flowing from an open vein, unable to stop the bleeding or unwilling to. She wonders if she'll find peace or if she'll find torment. She wonders if she'll see her father.

Then, she remembers she's a songbird and throws the knife out of her window or leaves it on an empty plate of food. The maids take the plate away and never question where the knife came from. That makes her wonder, too.

She wonders how many spies actually have their eyes on her. The Queen's? Littlefinger's? Varys's? She wonders if the Hound spies for Joffrey as well. She wonders if her maids report to the Queen, whispering all the secrets Sansa thought she had into the Queen's ear. She wonders how many of her maids spy for the Queen and how many of them actually don't mean her harm. She wonders if Joffrey spies on her himself, keeping her within his sights at all times like a cat with a mouse.

One night, Sansa dismisses her maids early. She shuts the door and bolts it, pushing a chair in front of it to be sure. Assured that she is alone, she undresses from the gown she wore and into a night shift. She stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts are budding, her dresses beginning to become too tight across the chest. Her hips are swelling. Her blood comes like a curse and she finds herself wondering again.

She wonders if Joffrey will rape her one night while she lays asleep. She wonders if he will humiliate her in front of the courts, undressing her with hurtful hands and barbed words. She wonders if he will let his knights have her as well. She wonders if he's cruel enough to do such a deed and remembers her father's head. She wonders if she will have to bear his child. She wonders if she will have the strength to carry the child. She wonders if the child will be a boy or a girl. She wonders if Joffrey will beat the child out of her and leave her bleeding between the legs and losing the only life she could care about.

Lancel Lannister calls for her.

"Lady Sansa, King Joffrey commands your presence at court."

Sansa dresses prettily, piling her hair into braids and finishing with a hairnet Joffrey had given her. Her gown is deep purple with long billowing sleeves. A thin silver necklace graces her throat. The sleeves hide her bruises, and the skirts hide her slight limp. Sansa wonders if Joffrey will beat her to death one day. When she is escorted into the courtroom, Sansa plasters on her fake smile and curtsies as daintily as she can. She takes her place by his side, resisting the urge to squirm when he takes her hand. She sits by his side, pretty as can be.

She wonders what her life would be like if Joffrey wasn't cruel and the King wasn't dead and her father was still alive.

Sansa wonders and wonder and wonders, yet plays the songbird and pretends to think of nothing.

Besides, wondering won't stop the beatings

or the pain

or the bleeding

or the tears

or the anguish

or the worry

or the fear

or the hate

or the anger

or the temptation to murder.

Yet, even so, Sansa cannot help but wonder.


End file.
